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Sirius traces the stars with his eyes, connecting points to create constellations with his finger against the window pane. He’s tired of ancient stories, of tradition that defaces the night sky. For once, would it be too much to ask for stars that don’t act like tombstones for long dead family members?
There is no moon tonight so he stares into the black spaces where it might be hiding. Remus looks up and sees an open wound, bleeding stolen light over the world, but Sirius is selfish. Sirius looks up and sees beauty.
You’re no Black!
Well, good. Maybe…Maybe I don’t want to be!
He shivers against the cutting cold, rubbing his hands over his arms in a loose embrace. It’s the middle of the night, Sirius should’ve known to grab a blanket when he left his bed. Despite the warming charms, Hogwarts isn't known for being any more than chilly mid-winter. Now, frozen like a statue, the last thing he wants to do is push reality into movement again.
Sirius, please, just do what they say. It doesn’t have to be this way.
His eyes feel heavy with sleep—and tears, but he’d never admit to that. He sits, slumping against his bedpost, and stares up at the white pinpricks of light dotted across the night. From somewhere behind him, Sirius hears someone turn over in their bed.
She loves you, you just have to give her the chance to show you. You’re her son!
No, Reg, she hates me because I’m not. Not anymore.
He bites his tongue, locking his emotions away, as he’s done since childhood. As he’s been taught to do.
Itty bitty Sirius, a gryffindor!
His cousin’s cackles echo harshly through his head, and he feels the window crack. Sirius pushes his head to his bent knees, crossing his arms around his legs. The room seems to be even colder all of a sudden. He sobs, folding in on himself.
Bloodtraitor.
His crying, silent as it may be, soaks through the fabric of his pyjamas. He swears the walls are creeping closer, red curtains snarling accusations at him. Fear grips at his heart and he knows he’s a fraud of a gryffindor. Brave? Reckless, maybe. Chivalrous, never.
Running a hand through his hair, he faintly registers how messy it actually is. Sirius takes pride in his hair, in the appearance that everyone admires. It’s fitting that when alone he’s messy inside and out. His hand drops on the ground and lands on one of the glass shards laying at his feet. There is no pain to feel, no blood to clean, no actual glass shards, but Sirius is reminded of when he dropped an antique glass bowl when he was five. His mother had made him clean up each shard and Sirius ended up with bloody hands and knees.
Sirius, you have to be more careful. How did this happen? Walburga had said as if she hadn’t watched her son kneel on top of the fragments. With those words she had ripped his understanding of the situation in half. He still remembers it like it had ripped his soul too, now caught in between past and present, trapped in limbo.
Sirius is startles out of the memory by a blanket drooping over his shoulders. It’s heavy, warm and inviting as it covers his back. Tugging it closer, he brings it to his face, and takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with the smell of wool and old cologne. Sirius sighs, instantly more relaxed, and looks up at his saviour.
It’s Remus, looking down at him with large, concerned eyes. Of course it is. Smiling gratefully, he begins to say something, anything at all, when Remus crouches, kneeling next to him. A hand cradles Sirius’ face, Remus’ thumb rubbing away tears.
The wind rattles through the room, screaming his name like a curse, from where it had burst through the window, but Remus doesn’t seem to hear it. He wishes he could just fix that stupid window, keep the outside out and the inside in.
“Hey Padfoot, what’s wrong?” Sirius simply shakes his head and leans into Remus' side, who wraps an arm around Sirius’ shoulders and the blanket. Sirius tugs at it, pressing his fingers into the material. He knows it of course, was there when Remus unpacked it, casually chatting about how his mother had gifted it to him for Christmas. It’s bumpy, slightly misshapen, and a terrible shade of cream that reminded him of the old ladies. Sirius loves it.
“Your favourite blanket?”
“It is the warmest. You deserve the best, Sirius.”
“Remus…”
“Want to talk about it?” Conscious of Remus’ arm still wrapped around him, he shrugs lightly, not enough to disturb its position.
Why must you be so difficult, Sirius? Regulus has certainly never behaved like this.
“Memories, I guess,” he ends up mumbling in the end.
“Yeah, I get that.” Remus sighs, tightening his grip on Sirius’ shoulder minutely for a split second before letting go again. “Family?”
All Sirius manages is a small nod and a wet laugh at his own pathetic state.
“They never deserved you, Sirius. You were always too good, too kind for them.”
“Regulus?” Cautiously Sirius watches Remus close his eyes in defeat. He can feel the rise and fall of Remus’ chest as he breathes in slowly and then out even slower. Outside, an owl hoots.
“Maybe he’ll learn. Maybe he won’t. But that’s not your fault, Sirius, and never has been.”
“I can hear them,” Sirius confesses, looking down in shame. Remus looks confused so he continues, “I can hear their voices. In my head.”
“Whatever they’re saying, they’re wrong. Pick a different voice, one that says nice things about you. Like James or Peter…or me.”
“That’s stupid though, isn’t it? I’ve escaped them after all.”
“It takes a little longer to escape memories, unfortunately. Sometimes…Sometimes you can’t. But you will.”
Sirius turns completely to stare at Remus. He looks exhausted, with unruly curls Sirius wants to run his fingers through, and soft eyes he wants looking at him forever. In those eyes he sees the future.
“You think so?”
“Yeah, Padfoot, I do. Now, let’s go to bed, huh?” And turning his back on the judgemental stars and hidden moon, Sirius has never wanted anything more.
He takes Remus’ blanket from his shoulders and covers them both in its warmth. Drowsily, they fall into bed. The last thought that drifts through his mind is that the window was never broken, it only needed to be opened to let in some fresh air. Together, they fall asleep.